The Theft
by FountainOfPens
Summary: Draco seeks retribution for the theft of his diary on Harry Potter, who he's sure has stolen it.  Only Harry doesn't react to his accusations with the usual insults and derision.  Oh no.  That would be too easy.  Draco hates his life.  HPDM slash
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry or Draco or the Harry Potter universe.

**Author's Note: **Swearing and slash, as usual.

"Potter," Draco growled, his wand ready to blast some of the Boy Who Lived's teeth out, "if you even dare fucking _move_ you will not live to see tomorrow!"

Harry smiled, leaning against the wall. "I didn't take it, Malfoy," he said easily.

"Bullshit!" He hadn't written in the diary for weeks, but that didn't mean it gave Potter license to just up and take the fucking thing when he'd left it on his desk in Potions! He _knew_ it had to be Potter who'd taken it. Who else would? Draco winced slightly. _Well, Pansy. But then why is Potter all smiley? And how would he know what I was talking about?_

Harry sighed. "I'm telling you, Malfoy, I really didn't take it. Why should I care about your little Slytherin fantasies?"

"I could hex you," Draco hissed, "Just for that."

Harry's eyes darkened. Draco's eyes narrowed. _What are you planning, Potter?_

"You won't," said Harry, standing a bit straighter.

Draco laughed bitterly. "Ah, typical cocky Gryffindor son of a bitch. What makes you so sure?" He poked Harry's lip lightly with his wand.

Draco frowned. A slow grin was spreading across the Gryffindor's face. _Okay, what…_

Then Harry's tongue slithered out of his mouth to rest on the tip of Draco's wand.

"Potter, what the fuck are you—"

And then he'd started swirling it around and around, like some kind of sick merry-go-round, and the worst part of it was that Draco _couldn't look away._ He was captivated by the movements of Harry's tongue, letting him get spit all over his wand, and to his horror Draco discovered that he was being _turned on_ by this. And, going by the decidedly salacious look in Harry Potter's eyes, that was the intention.

At last the tongue receded back into the doubtless warm and delicious cavern of Harry's mouth. "That's why," he said with a self-satisfied smirk.

It took a stunned minute for Draco to collect his thoughts and shoot back, "So, what, Potter, you bribing me? I'll get a blowjob if I don't hex you for taking my diary?"

Harry grinned at him, eyes flashing mischievously. "Quick on the uptake, Draco," he said, and Draco began to splutter, but Harry continued speedily, "But no. Number one, I didn't take your diary, and number two, I only give blowjobs under the right circumstances. Always gratis, might I add."

Draco bit his tongue. _Fuck. Gratis—right circumstances—what does he—fuck. _"I see." He was feeling hot, so hot, and while Harry had always fascinated him, it worried him slightly to know that he was the source of this burning ache in Draco's gut. _I need a cold shower. Right now._ But he had to ask one question.

"So does that mean you like—boys, Potter?"

Harry smiled. He leaned towards the wand as if he were going to lick it again, then laughed, seeing Draco's expression. "I would say. And," said Harry, suddenly pushing Draco's wand downward with a finger, bringing his face a little too close to Draco's, "by your reaction to my little stunt, I'd say you don't mind them, either. Be seeing you, Malfoy."

And he just walked away. And Draco let him, because he was confused as fuck and really, really aroused. He didn't even care about the diary; he'd just gone after it on principle, because it would give him a chance to threaten Harry Potter.

_Right_, he thought, _cold shower—no, fucking _freezing_ shower and then roll all over the stones in the Dungeons. And then figure out why Potter is coming on to me. And then find out why the bleeding, writhing, maggoty hell it_ worked_._

**Afterword:** So… I don't know. This was inspired by a comic on DeviantArt basically depicting this scene. I put words to it and got this. I could just leave it as it is. Or should I continue? –shrug- tell me what you think in a review!


	2. Chapter 2

Harry breezed into the Gryffindor common room, a thoughtful look on his face. His gaze was intensely focused as it swiped across the room, missing Ginny's eager wave. He finally saw the familiar bushy brown head and strode over. "Hermione, can I talk to you?" he asked abruptly.

The girl sighed, closing her book, and looked up to where he stood, leaning on the back of her chair. She studied his face briefly and said, "Please tell me you haven't got another unjustified detention."

Harry smiled crookedly. "Nah. Though I do hate those. No, it's a bit—can we go somewhere else?"

Hermione blinked, her glance darting briefly towards Ginny. "Er, the library?"

"Is the Room of Requirement okay?"

She frowned. "That bad?"

"Not… bad, necessarily. That private, yes."

Hermione's gaze dropped, and she tapped her fingers against the cover of her book absently.

"Er, 'Mione?"

"Right. Room of Requirement. Fine." She got up with a sigh.

They set off at a brisk pace, Hermione still having a staring contest with the floor, fingers tap, tap, tapping on her book. She kept looking briefly at Harry and then down again.

Finally, Harry couldn't stand it. "_What_? I haven't even told you about it yet!" He was careful to temper the irritableness in his tone with amusement. He felt like he was always yelling at someone these days, and a lot of the time it was the people close to him, whom he least wanted to hurt. Then again, it was difficult to be even-tempered when the Dark Lord's shadow loomed over you every minute of every day.

She smiled slightly. "Just thinking up possibilities."

Harry grinned, shaking his head. "Well, we're here, anyway." He walked passed the door three times, thinking of a spacious room with two armchairs and a fire. The door creaked open, and he held it for Hermione.

She sat, but he remained standing, staring absently into the fire as he thought about yesterday's events. He had taken the diary, all right—had hidden it somewhere in Ron's things, with the other's consent of course—but he hadn't had the chance to look at it yet. He had kind of just taken the damn thing just to have taken Draco Malfoy's diary. But now…

"Harry?"

Oh, right. "Er, yes. So what if—hypothetically speaking—" he had no idea why he added the "hypothetically," because even if bits of him weren't entirely comfortable with telling this to anyone, she would figure it out—but he forged on, "Hypothetically speaking, these two people hate each other, right? I mean like blood-boiling, want-to-tear-his-throat-out-as-soon-as-you-see-him."

Hermione nodded, looking a bit confused. "Go on."

"And so one day, one of them kind of flirts with the other one, you know? Just to fuck with him."

Hermione's eyebrows reached her hairline. "Just to fu—oh dear Merlin, Harry, you don't _do_ that."

"Let me finish. In my—in the person's defense, it was an impulse thing. Anyway, the other person, he—doesn't react in the way the first person expected."

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples, eyes closed. "And what did the first person expect?" she asked delicately.

"Umm… He didn't really know. He just expected—shock and disgust, I guess. But what he got was—" Harry went a bit red—"interest."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "_Interest_? You're not serious! Draco soddding Malfoy's not—"

"Shh, shh, the walls have ears! Maybe not in here, but you should be careful—"

"Says the idiot who decides to _flirt_ with the guy he hates most for a bit of a joke!" She looked at his shocked face and said, "I'm sorry, Harry, I shouldn't have—I know how hard this whole gay thing has been for you. And finding that you're not alone, even if you're not exactly in good company—" she smirked—"is no doubt comforting. But you should _not_ have flirted with Draco Malfoy. That is playing with fire. In fact, that is quite possibly suicide. At the very least it's—tell me exactly what happened."

So Harry took a deep breath, his face glowing like Rudolph's nose, and recounted the entire thing. The wand-licking business only got a raised eyebrow. When he finished, she let out a gusty breath and said, "I believe you are familiar with the slang term 'a right cock-up?'"

Harry nodded, confused.

"Well, that would be an extremely accurate description of this situation. Oh, Harry, I—sometimes I just wish you would listen to your head." Her sympathetic brown eyes took the edge off her words.

He sighed. "So do I. This has multiple implications, some of which I like, and some of which I don't."

Hermione's gaze grew hard. "I am not at all averse to causing that prat pain, but outing him would be pointless, considering."

Harry nodded, grimacing. He was not yet ready to tell Ron and Ginny that he was most likely gay, let alone the rest of the wizarding world. "No, I wasn't thinking of that. I was thinking, maybe, if I continued this thing—just to see where it would go—well, it'd give us access to a lot of useful information…"

He trailed off at seeing the incredulous horror in Hermione's gaze. "That," she rasped, "would be an even worse idea than the one that got us into this mess in the first place." Harry appreciated her use of the word "us"; it was, after all, his own stupidity that had gotten them into this, and no fault of Hermione's.

She tapped her fingers on the table. It was an enervating tic, but Harry had grown used to it, so he just waited out the irritating noise. "Yes. It would be a terrible idea, besides being immoral, even if it is Draco Malfoy. After all, how do we know he wouldn't do the same thing, if you indicated romantic feelings toward him? Of course, you might be expecting that, but… And quite frankly, there's the possibility that—" she turned slightly pink and snapped her mouth shut. "Never mind. It would be a terrible idea."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "There's the possibility that _what_, Hermione?"

"Well." She coughed. "Harry, I don't want to upset you unnecessarily. Just forget about it."

"I can deal with being upset, Hermione. I'm a big boy. I can't deal with my best friend and adviser keeping things from me." He was exaggerating and he knew it, but it took a lot to embarrass Hermione.

She cracked. "Well, there's—I mean, why'd you do it in the first place, right?" She looked desperate.

"What? It was just an impulse." He thought a bit more. "No. Oh no. You can't seriously think—Merlin, Hermione! He's an arrogant little prat, and that's all he's ever been! I am _not_ in love with him."

"I never said love. It is possible," she said in the tone of someone who knows what she is talking about, "to be attracted to someone while still hating his guts at times."

Harry choked. "I—I'm not—and even if I was—"

"I'm not saying you are. I'm saying you could be. And if you were, it would be best not to—_encourage_ that attraction." She sighed. "He might not even be gay."

Harry gave her a look. "_You_ were not _there_, Hermione. He couldn't take his eyes off me. And I swear his pants looked a little tighter than usual."

Hermione snorted. "Honestly, Harry." She took a breath. "Anyway, I think our best course of action for now is to see what he does."

"That's not much help."

"No, it isn't, and I can't say I like it much, either. But you never know with Malfoy."

Harry smirked. "Oh yeah. This little incident being Example A."

She laughed, waving a hand dismissively as they walked out of the room.

**Afterword: ** Thoughts? Suggestions? Review! It will make me happy :) and will probably get the creative juices flowing as well.

**PPS:** I have been looking for this picture forever and using multiple search terms, and I had finally given up when jensonluvsu asked me to post a link to the piece. I gave it another try and-voila! The inspiration for this fic! I can't post the link, so search up "evil harry potter thing" and click on the first one ;) The artist is may-chu.


	3. Chapter 3

Hogwarts was immense and labyrinthine, always changing, figured Draco, so it should not be hard to avoid Harry Potter (and thus, the memory of _that incident_). But it seemed as though the prat was popping up everywhere—in the Library, in the Quidditch fields… and then Draco realized that he was doing an abysmal job of Potter evasion and that it was possible to do a much better job by sticking to the mostly Slytherin areas of school.

He tried that for a while; then he got angry at himself for letting Harry fucking Potter affect him like this. He was Draco Malfoy, and damn if he was going to let the Boy Who Lived box him in just because the idiot had flirted with him. He probably did it just to freak Draco out. And Draco should not get himself worked up about it. Especially since he wasn't gay. Right. Isolated incident.

As Draco now stood in front of a Potions classroom, craning his neck so he could see whether anyone (cough Potter cough, but never mind about that) was coming down the hall, some tired old phrase about rivers and Egypt flitted through his head. He ignored it. He was rather good at ignoring things. With the possible exception of…

_Damn it, get out of my head!_ Draco thought furiously. He was getting increasingly frustrated with the git for popping up in Draco's physical and mental space. It seemed like he was always thinking about Potter, now that Draco was being forced to notice. Before, though, it was somehow… okay. Because he hated Potter. Now, things were a bit different. Now he was reminded of the incident, the wave of heat rising low in his stomach—_shit_.

He was nervous and twitchy and cranky and unbelievably horny—_Why didn't I see this before? I'm obviously just really, really sexually frustrated!_ In a way it gave him a sense of relief. It wasn't Potter, it was him. He quickly turned and started heading for the Dungeons when he bumped into—something. "Hey, quit—" but he couldn't see whoever he'd bumped into.

_Okay. This is worrying. I have gone from being sexually frustrated to having tactile hallucinations. And not even the nice kind._

"Hello?" he asked uncertainly. "Peeves?"

Draco put out his hands experimentally—and touched a strange, velvety textile _that he couldn't see_. He stared wide-eyed into the empty space before him.

And then he could have sworn he heard Harry Potter's voice whisper, "Oh shit."

"Oh. My. Fucking. God," said Draco, throwing up his hands. "I'm going crazy. That's it. The dreams and the—and now I'm hearing his _voice_ and shit. Well, too bad, Ghost-Potter! I'm going to have a wank and then I'm going to be rid of you for good!"

He stormed off, leaving a very confused but highly interested Harry Potter, hidden from sight by the Invisibility Cloak, behind.

A locked door, a few minutes of heavy breathing, and a noise that sounded an awful lot like the name "Harry" hissed through a bitten tongue later, Draco Malfoy felt mostly at peace, except for the vague thought that he might be going out of his mind.

He hadn't paid much attention to fantasizing, wanting to get this over with so that he could get Potter out of his head, but he did notice that the person featured in this particular fantasy had black hair and green eyes. And glasses.

Draco sighed. He was not attracted to Harry Potter. He couldn't be. The whole enemies thing aside, he was certain he had better taste than that. Potter was scrawny and annoying and he had that horrible lightning scar on his forehead…

He realized someone was calling his name. "Draco? Everything all right in there?"

"Blaise? When did you come in?"

"Oh, early enough," Blaise replied, and Draco noticed the slightly lascivious lilt to the other boy's voice. It wasn't the first and definitely not the most obvious time Blaise had come on to him.

_Shit._ "You ought to be worrying more about whether your own zipper's up than whether mine is," Draco quipped, casting a quick _Scourgify_ and opening the door to reveal Blaise staring at him.

Draco stared back for a little. A terrible, manipulative, ill-advised idea popped into his head. _Maybe if I indulge in this weird new fetish I have, just once, I'll be satisfied. Maybe I'll forget Potter and boys in general._ Before he could talk himself out of it he found himself saying, "You know, Blaise, I would like to get fabulously, spectacularly drunk this evening. Do you happen to still have that bottle of Firewhiskey you procured over vacation?"

"Yeah, sure. Um, I don't know when everyone else is coming back—"

"Fuck it. Who said we have to share with our roommates?" Draco flashed Blaise his most charming smile and thought, _Holy fuck, I'm hitting on a boy. The things Potter drives me to, honestly._

Blaise smiled. "Yeah." He turned and began digging through his things. Draco took the time to leisurely examine his prospective—well, he wasn't exactly sure. Did he really want to sleep with Blaise? Surely he need not go that far to forget these strange urges he was having. However, as long as he topped, there couldn't be much difference—_stop thinking like that. There is a _huge_ difference, Draco. Sleeping with a guy makes you gay._

As Blaise turned around, Firewhiskey in hand, Draco decided, _We'll just see how far it goes._ He grabbed the bottle from his friend and took a long, long swig.

Blaise was a terrible lightweight, so he was hugely drunk even though they'd only gotten through half the bottle. Their roommates had indeed come back, and Draco had gotten self-conscious, so he dragged Blaise by the limp, inebriated arm out to the Quidditch Pitch, where they now sat. Draco held the bottle away from Blaise while he decided what to do.

Draco had not really formulated a plan as to what would happen once Blaise did get drunk. He was sort of hoping that the other boy would make a pass on him first, but it was clear at this point that Blaise was far more interested in getting the Firewhiskey bottle back than doing dirty things with Draco.

Finally he let Blaise have the bottle, still mulling over what to do. _Come on, Blaise, you know you want me._ Let alone the fact that Draco was still a bit hesitant over this whole thing despite being pretty inebriated himself, he wasn't sure how exactly to go about coming on to another boy. Was there some kind of exchange that had to go on first? Was it like with girls, where you had to whisper seductive things in their ears for a while before they'd sleep with you?

Blaise was now dancing around with the bottle, waving it haphazardly in front of Draco's face and singing, "Firewhiskey is my only love," or something equally as ridiculous. It was seriously getting on Draco's nerves, and having to think through the drink and Blaise's singing was getting to be too much for his brain, so what he did next was really more out of a need to have Blaise shut up than anything else.

What he did was he gave up and yanked Blaise down to him, crushing his lips against the other boy's.

The first few seconds were the worst kiss Draco had ever had in his life. Blaise just sat there numbly, staring at him through swimming, drunk eyes. When he finally got around to responding, grabbing Draco's face and unceremoniously shoving his tongue down Draco's throat, things did not improve very much.

The second kiss got better. Draco decided he liked the rough way Blaise was handling him, shoving him down into the grass and leaving a harsh trail of kisses down his neck. He did feel aroused more than he felt disgusted, but he'd been with girls that were far better.

He started wondering what Potter would think of this—of Draco and Blaise rolling shamelessly in the dirt. And much as he hated to admit it, the thought of Potter watching him sent a jolt of heat to his groin. He moaned and grabbed at Blaise, who responded enthusiastically to say the least. He knew that on some level this was very, very wrong—on many levels, in fact—but he continued to indulge. Blaise certainly wasn't complaining about Draco's new eagerness.

Draco's fantasies began to morph quickly from Potter merely watching to Potter doing, and then to Potter being the one mouthing his crotch through the fabric of his jeans, Potter putting his hands all over Draco. His body was on fire imagining his nemesis touching him instead of Blaise, and judging from the way he had worked Draco's wand the other day, he was probably better at fellatio, too. In truth every moan drawn from Draco's lips that night belonged to Potter, not Blaise. Every shudder belonged to the Boy Who Lived, not Zabini.

And when he climaxed, just biting back Harry's name on the tip of his tongue, he knew that it wasn't just boys. It was Potter. Without a doubt, it was Potter.


End file.
